


Courtship

by Guede



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guede/pseuds/Guede
Summary: Will is upset.  Will is being wooed.  Will is slightly confused by this.
Relationships: Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth Swann, Jack Sparrow/Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner
Kudos: 57





	Courtship

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LiveJournal in 2004, before any of the sequels, as LJ user elspethdixon's gift in the polyficathon challenge. LJ user fabu provided beta services.

On the first of the month, Will walked into his forge to just in time to see Jack and Elizabeth roll apart. His friend’s bandanna was askew and trousers down; his fiancée’s dress was hiked up to display a good deal more skin than Will ever remembered seeing. Well, with the exception of that time when they were thirteen and Elizabeth beat Will to the top of the biggest tree in Port Royal. He might’ve been slightly distracted by the way the breeze had blown up her petticoats.

“Will!” Elizabeth’s eyes went round as the moon. At first, she clutched at her skirts, but upon realizing that Will was still staring at her knees, she hastily shoved the fabric down.

“Will!” Jack’s eyes were somewhat hard to distinguish from the black stuff smudged about them, but they were definitely surprised.

“Yes, I’m him.” Oddly enough, Will wasn’t so much angry as…floating. He didn’t actually seem to be in his body, so it made perfect sense that he would now be staring at Jack’s knees. And not, say, trying to strangle the other man, or challenge him to a duel like Elizabeth’s novels would suggest he do in this situation. Which was fortunate, because he still winced whenever he thought about the outcome of his first fight with Jack. Beaten by a pirate who was defeated by a drunkard.

Elizabeth swallowed heavily and drew herself upright. She put out a beseeching hand as she spoke, clearly afraid of Will’s reaction. Or non-reaction, as the case may be. “Will, darling. I came down to bring you some lunch, and—and I ran into Jack here…”

Winsome smile as said man put his palms together and made a little bow. “…an’ I was comin’ t’see a man ‘bout a donkey—er, sword—but she an’ I were jus’ chattin’ when suddenly, there was a…”

At this point, Will gave up on reality and drifted out onto the street before he had to suffer another one of Jack’s ridiculous stories. He could hear voices yelling after him, but the wind was quite brisk and so he blew swiftly down the road until they were out of earshot.

“Well, that was interesting.” And _that_ was about all Will could think of saying. He stood where he was until, maybe fifteen minutes later, someone politely coughed behind him. Commodore Norrington, looking about as puzzled as Will felt.

“Turner? What on earth are you doing here?”

“I have no idea, really. Oh, sorry, am I blocking your door?” Will started to go into the road, but then he realized that he had nowhere to go. This was the only place in all of the Caribbean that Jack and Elizabeth wouldn’t come looking for him, and right now Will desperately needed some time alone to figure things out. Like how to reattach his head to his neck. And whether he was angry, or disappointed, or sad. Or all of the above and then some. “Incidentally, if I ever criticized your attitude towards Elizabeth, I am sincerely sorry.”

The other man’s expression only grew more confused. “William? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Damned if I know. Damned if I _ever_ knew what I was about, because clearly I had no idea what Elizabeth and Ja—” Will cut himself off with a curse and wheeled away from Norrington. Wonderful. He’d almost given away Jack’s presence.

And that was interesting that he still felt the need to protect the man, given that currently Will was undecided about whether he ever wanted to speak to Jack again.

“Ja…?” the commodore repeated inquisitively.

“Jacob. Jacob,” Will frantically corrected, tossing out the first “J” name he could remember.

“The tailor for the wedding trousseau?” Now Norrington looked suspicious, eying Will as if he were a newly-caught criminal. “What could possibly be the matter there?”

From the frying pan to the fire. Covering for Jack led to covering for Elizabeth led to an exceedingly awkward conversation with the last person on earth who would be sympathetic to Will’s troubles with Elizabeth. Will shook his head and began to wander off again. “Never mind, Commodore. It’s just a matter of mistaken communication. Probably my fault…and oh. Your flowers…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your lawn.”

Norrington seemed about to order Will off the flowerbed when a reluctant shade of compassion crossed his face. The commodore dropped his head into his hand and asked Will in to dinner.

Actually, the meal was quite good. Once they started talking.

* * *

On the seventh day of the month, Will repaired the last broken hinge in the commodore’s house and, having nothing else to justify his stay, was forced to return to his bed in the forge. Fortunately, Mr. Brown had decided sometime before that living above the bar was easiest, and so Will had the entire place to himself as long as he kept paying the bar tab.

Unfortunately, he still had no idea what to do about Elizabeth and Jack. And the wedding was in two months.

Will leaned against his bench and tried to organize his thoughts. All right. Elizabeth said she loved him, and would marry him. Jack was his friend. Elizabeth and Jack clearly had feelings for each other. But they said they also cared about Will. One plus one equaled…three, which was one more than there should have been.

A slight noise at the door interrupted his ponderings. As they weren’t working out anyway, he gratefully seized upon the interruption and opened the door.

On the dirt outside, a full bottle of rum winked hopefully in the sunshine.

Will looked right and left, and then up and down, but he didn’t see anyone that would have any reason for giving him…rum, which he didn’t particularly care for. He shrugged, picked up the bottle and went back inside. He could think about that after he filled some of the orders that had piled up during his retreat at Norrington’s.

He made a lot of knives that day. Pounding stubborn lumps of metal proved to be very satisfying.

* * *

The next morning, two bottles of rum appeared, nestled in a basket with a ribbon that was rather familiar. And after that, three. By the end of the week, Will was waking up to entire crates—still decorated with the huge floppy bows, which were very like the ones Elizabeth had on her hats. He briefly considered giving the rum away, but that inexplicably smacked of betrayal. In consequence, he ended up making neat stacks in the back of the forge. Then he moved them to one side, because he accidentally left a few essential tools on the back table. And when he’d retrieved them, he shifted the crates back.

It gave him something to do at night, in place of the deep, refreshing sleep that had suddenly vanished from Will’s life. He stopped looking in the bit of glass he had except when he had to shave, because the red spiderwebs in his eyes were truly horrifying. They made it difficult to do his grocery shopping in the open-air market, as little children started to cry whenever they looked at Will, and their stall-keeping mothers angrily smacked his change into his hand.

It didn’t matter too much, as the townspeople already whispered up a storm whenever he appeared. He had no idea what Elizabeth, or Norrington, had said to explain matters, but he certainly wasn’t going to enlighten the busybodies. They could mind their own messy affairs; there had to be better things for them to stare at than his engagement ring, as if they expected it to disappear any moment.

Will didn’t intend to take it off, even if worst came to worst. That ring was a sign of a pledge he’d made to Elizabeth, and _he_ wasn’t going to break his word.

Even if it hurt like the devil to look at it.

* * *

On the fourteenth day of the month, a box of food appeared next to the usual crates of rum. It was stuffed with the finest produce and bread and roasted chicken, and in the very bottom was a small package of Will’s favorite sweets, a hard candy peculiar to the Governor’s kitchens. He munched on those while he finished the last of the townspeople’s orders, around three o’clock in the afternoon.

Following that, he had nothing to do.

In the past, whenever Will had completed his day’s work ahead of time, he had often slipped up to the Governor’s mansion, where he and Elizabeth had dodged their chaperones for brief moments of gleeful freedom. Or, if she was inextricably trapped in some function, down to the docks where Jack was, more often than not. The man seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to knowing when Will would come. 

On the other hand, he also had a seventh sense when it came to knowing what would put the wind up Will’s back. Or perhaps that should be a distinct _lack_ of a seventh sense.

And Elizabeth. God, but Will loved her. Even now, thinking about the way she always never _thought_ about the possible consequences of a choice, but simply acted…like how she had told Barbossa she was Elizabeth Turner. And how she had taken Will’s coin from him and secretly kept it, the last remnant of his parents, from him for nine years. But also how she had come back to help rescue him from Isle de Muerte, and how she had stepped to his side when he had defended Jack from the bayonets. On the one hand, it all made for a spirit as sharp and bright as the swords he made. On the other, it could be damned infuriating.

Will looked at the candy in his hand, then at the rum piling up against the wall.

Well, he hadn’t lost his aim. The fragments of glass and the spilled liquor from that one bottle, nailed dead in the center, took a half-hour to clean up. Then, strangely exhausted, Will took a nap.

* * *

He dreamed of ships with black sails, and merpeople with two tails in place of legs. He dreamed of ropes twisted from raven and gold tresses, and blades that sang with the voices of men when struck.

He dreamed he was lying on the deck of the _Black Pearl_ , wind lashing cruelly across his body. It blew him off the edge, but before he hit the water, something caught him and held him close. Warm. Soft.

* * *

On the fifteenth day of the month, Will awoke on the floor of his shop, neck stiff as a ramrod and mouth tasting of bitter scum. His old blanket, worn past the point of threadbare, had somehow made its way down from the loft and was securely tucked around him.

When a new quilt appeared on his doorstep, cushioning a ship-in-a-bottle that was a perfect replica of the _Pearl_ , he allowed himself a small, sour smile. Then he went back inside and replaced all the locks on all the windows and doors.

Freedom, Jack had said once, was the ability to decide where to go, with none to gainsay you. Very well, then; Will was going to do just that. Everything was orderly and definite here in the forge, and it had whatever he needed in order to make a living.

Having a life, though…

Sighing, he spread out the quilt over his knees and inhaled the sweet fragrance of Elizabeth’s perfume.

* * *

On the twentieth day of the month, Governor Swann came to visit just as Will was lugging in the crates of rum and delicacies. And the hat, which had more feathers than most birds. Swann looked extremely uncomfortable.

Not being a fool, Will locked up shop and invited him to take a walk to the fortress. “What can I do for you, Governor Swann?”

“William, I’ve told you over and over to call me Weatherby. It’s hardly necessary keep up formalities when you’re to become…a family relation.” The huge wig kept Will from a full view of the other man’s expression, but Swann seemed to be laboring under a heavy load. 

“As I used to tell your daughter, you must ask me to call you that at least one more time.” Will stared not at the fort’s formidable stone walls, but out to sea, scanning the horizon for any ships despite knowing that none were due to dock.

“Yes, well, that’s extremely circumspect of you.” Swann hesitated, glancing sidelong at Will, before visibly bracing himself and continuing. “I hope I haven’t given you any indications that I disapprove of Elizabeth’s choice. You are a fine, upstanding citizen of Port Royal, William. Even if you occasionally show tendencies toward…ah…that is…the wedding is still on, I hope? Elizabeth’s very—”

Will gritted his teeth and raised a hand to politely interrupt the other man. He forced a pleasant expression onto his face. “I shall abide by whatever her decision is, sir. I love Elizabeth too much to do anything else.”

Contrary to Will’s expectations, a broad grin broke out on the other man’s face. “I see. Well, Mr. Turner, you have my blessing.”

The conversation itself ended there, but its contents gave Will food for thought for the rest of the day and the evening.

* * *

On the twenty-first day, Will awoke still preoccupied with the previous morning’s discussion, and subsequently tripped over the woman sleeping in front of the door. Anamaria wasn’t very happy about that, and it was only by offering her a free pick from his stock of blades that he managed to placate her into coherence. “S’pose that’ll do,” she muttered, stalking in behind him. “For wakin’ me, anyway. Jack’s an entirely diff’rent story.”

“What about him?”

And Will was on the floor, rubbing at his throbbing jaw while Anamaria fussed over the daggers. “Y’do real good work, Turner. Never would’ve thought.”

“Thanks.” He warily got up and stayed well out of range, eyes watching her hands.

“Men. They never _talk_ , th’fools.” She picked up his personal favorite and flipped it around a few times, putting it through its paces. Impressed, she nodded and slipped it into her sash. “’course, Jack talks all th’damn time, but it mostly don’ count.”

Not really knowing the answer to something like that, Will made a noncommittal sound. Whereupon she whirled around and backed him into a corner. “Listen, Turner. Y’comin’ after him, or not?”

There were worlds of meaning in that question, none of which Will wanted to face. Everything just had to be so complicated all the time—and why did he have to do all the thinking? Who the hell decided he was going to be the rational one? He had just as much right as anyone else to simply be madder than hell and unreasonable and yes, a jackass, if he felt like it. Someone else could handle all the consequences, since someone else had made the decisions in the first place. Without asking him. “Did you ever get another boat from Jack?” he snapped at her.

Surprised, she stepped back a bit and narrowed her eyes. After a long, tense moment, Anamaria shook her head. “Nah. But I’m thinkin’ I don’ need th’boat just yet. An’ y’know, ‘least I found out why he took it. Helps a lot wi’ th’let live part of things.”

“Who ever said I needed to forgive him?” Will sank down on a box and moodily pulled out one of its rum bottles.

“I said, _let live_ , not forgive. Tcah! Goddamned men don’ listen properly, either. Never stick ‘round t’hear th’last half of th’story, an’ then they wonder why everything don’ make sense.” Anamaria derisively clucked her tongue and sashayed out of the forge.

She did have a point, Will acknowledged. He couldn’t deny that he still had considerable feelings for Elizabeth and Jack, and that life was miserable without their company. Moreover, if they were only attracted to each other, then why were they still sending gifts to him? Which reminded Will…

He had to search around a bit, but eventually he found where Anamaria had put the latest offerings: an old, age-stained book he recognized as Elizabeth’s very favorite pirate novel, and a battered tricorne that he wouldn’t miss anywhere.

“All right, all right,” Will grumbled, stomping back inside. That night, he left the back door unlocked.

* * *

On the morning of the twenty-second, Will awoke blissfully sore and _not_ alone. Elizabeth was clinging to his side, adorable little whistle-snores gusting over his neck, and Jack was indecently sprawled atop him, drowsily nipping at the corners of his mouth.

“Y’didn’ drink any of th’rum,” the other man informed him.

“And you barely touched the food,” Elizabeth added, sleepily blinking to consciousness.

Will stretched, then snuggled back into his new quilt. “Wasn’t nearly as good without you two. And I’m still not happy that I had to find out about this by walking in on—”

“We’re making it up to you,” Elizabeth murmured while Jack stopped up Will’s mouth with his own. “Promise. And we’re not breaking that one.”


End file.
